


Of A World Made by Things You Never Know

by isuilde



Category: Karneval
Genre: Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, and yogi is as childish as ever, in which gareki has grown a bit more mature, manga-verse, slight mention of non consensual touchings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 08:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isuilde/pseuds/isuilde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s a life where you don’t need to rush and be on your guard at all times. It's a world Yogi wants to show Gareki.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of A World Made by Things You Never Know

**Author's Note:**

> This was one of those speedy writing I did when I got panicky about my thesis. I did a lot. ;A; First Karneval fic, established relationship, also this is a Timeline, What Timeline? fic, but I think this is set far in the future where Gareki’s graduated from the academy or something. Far, far in the future. Do enjoy.

Yogi’s kisses are always, always careful.

It irritates Gareki because no matter how much he tries to deepen the kiss, no matter how he pulls Yogi closer and licks his way past the older man’s lips, to steal Yogi’s breath and coax out pleasured gasps (and girlish yelps, sometimes, if Gareki tries hard enough), in the end, Yogi always pulls away a little with a smile as dazzling as his hair, puts a finger on Gareki’s lips and lightly pecks the corner of Gareki’s lips.

The last gesture always feels like a gratitude; one that Gareki never understands.

Yogi’s kisses are slow, a soft press against Gareki’s own lips that moves in time with each heartbeat. Yogi never bites—it’s always Gareki who does, because he’s impatient when it comes to this. As a child, he treasured the rare times he could indulge himself (Tsubaki’s cooking, revenge on those kids picking on Tsubame, or finding Yotaka’s secret stash of sweets under his pillow), but there are times he had to deny himself the luxury for the greater good (no buying new clothes from the money he’d stolen because Grandpa needed it, no coming home to the twins because he couldn’t have them involved with the thievery). Yogi’s kisses are different—it’s liberating, to know that Gareki will always have these kisses to indulge, to drown himself in, and there’s no risk, there’s no responsibility, and it will be just perfect if Yogi would just get  _closer_ —

Yogi pulls back slightly, grinning even as he plants the last kiss on the right corner of Gareki’s lips, and Gareki rewards him with an irritated huff.

“Let’s not rush, Gareki-kun,” a thumb against Gareki’s jaw, calloused fingers sliding onto his nape. Gareki lets Yogi rest his forehead against his own, because then he can feel Yogi’s breath on his nose, and that’s fascinating, really, the concept of  _breathing the same air_. Inhale, exhale. “Mou, Gareki-kun always bites really hard.”

It’s only then he notices the speck of red on the left corner of Yogi’s lips. Oh. No wonder the kiss tasted a little like metal. Something in his chest tightens as his eyes follows the tip of Yogi’s tongue, flicking out to lick at the tiny wound Gareki’s teeth had left, and for a second his mind goes blank.

“I,” Gareki says, then clears his throat. “That’s your own fault for not cooperating, idiot.”

Yogi chuckles. “But if I follow Gareki-kun’s lead, then I wouldn’t be able to stop.” Gareki feels rather than sees Yogi’s breath catches, and he shivers minutely as the older man’s gaze darken. “And we really, really shouldn’t rush—“

Gareki’s left eye twitches in irritation. “Don’t treat me like a kid,” he warns, hating the fact that his stern note is subdued by how breathless he is right now. “It’s not—you’re not my first, Yogi, I told you that.”

Yogi makes an odd cross between his infamous puppy eyes and a pinched look, like what Gareki tells him is hurting him physically and he’s being a huge baby about it. So he puts on his frown, the one he reserves specifically for the times when Yogi is being more of a fucking moron than usual, and draws back. “If you still can’t deal with that—“

“It’s not,” Yogi cuts him off, the hand on Gareki’s nape tightens imperceptibly. “It’s not—I’m not upset that I’m not your first, Gareki-kun—I mean, yeah, I’m a bit upset, but that’s because you’re still really young, and—it’s not that I don’t want to, it’s just—it’s unfair, you know, that you had to—to do things like that. Not just that, I mean—the whole thing—“

Gareki stares at him pointedly, because Yogi is babbling and he’s not making any sense, and just like that, Yogi shuts up.

Months ago, months ago, before Nai and before Circus and before Karoku, before the academy and his graduation, before knowing exactly what having a family as well as what wielding a terrifying power means, Gareki prefers not to talk. It’s easier—it still is easier and safer that way, to not tell a soul what he feels, to protect himself within the small bubble he creates to separate himself and the others. But he’s learned a lot, since he first finds his place in the second ship (or perhaps far before, even before Hirato-san asked him if he wanted to be a child of the second ship), and he’s learned how to be comfortable with people’s touches and voices, to accept the need to talk and be with others. It’s been a slow going, but he’s learned a lot.

Which is why he sighs almost inaudibly, tangles his fingers in Yogi’s golden curls, and says, “use proper words, idiot.”

Some of the tension on Yogi’s expression clears away, enough to let a small smile graces the blond’s lips.

“I hate that Gareki-kun had to go through things like that,” Yogi’s tone takes the pitch of a kid complaining, like he hasn’t gotten enough snacks. Sometimes Gareki wonders who the fuck is older. “That you had to—to steal and do bad things and—and let dirty people hurt you.”

Gareki stares at him, torn between irritation and amusement. “You’re not that dumb, are you?” he counters, digging his fingers into Yogi’s scalp hard enough to make the older man yelps in pain. “Have you ever heard the word survival, huh?”

Yogi scrunches up his nose. “I know! I know you had to do it to survive, Gareki-kun—but that doesn’t mean I can’t hate it!” One hand reaching up, softly prying Gareki’s fingers off the golden curls before lacing their fingers together. Gareki makes a face—Yogi is such a sap, sometimes, and one day Gareki is going to die of diabetes or something.

“Gareki-kun, you know,” Yogi’s voice drops into a whisper, like his words is the most important secret of the world, like Gareki is the only one who’s got the rights to hear them. “There’s a life that doesn’t have the need of picking up a gun to rob someone of his life or wealth. Or putting up with someone touching you so intimately even though you hate it.”

Earnest gaze finds Gareki’s eyes, and more than anything, it steals Gareki’s breath away.

“There’s a life where you don’t need to rush and be on your guard at all times, Gareki-kun,” Yogi says, and Gareki inhales each of his word, feels them clog his throat, slithers down his chest to his belly the way a warm milk in the middle of the night do. “It’s different, isn’t it? What we have. It isn’t survival for you, is it? Gareki-kun.”

Gareki shakes his head, but he thinks his whole body is shaking, so he’s not sure anymore.

Yogi smiles, dazzling like the early sunrays. “I want it to be different, too. So let’s not rush it, okay, Gareki-kun?” He bends down, presses his lips gently upon Gareki, and ever so slightly, bites.

There’s a slight whining sound that Gareki realizes belatedly coming from his throat, and it surprises him that Yogi could draw out such a reaction from him with just a soft bite. Yogi grins, eyes twinkling as laughter tumbles down his lips, and Gareki scowls, bops him hard in the head. “Stop treating me like a child.”

“I’m not!” Yogi protests, lets Gareki twist himself off his arms, because Nai and Tsukumo are coming from across the hallway, the Niji’s cheerful call bouncing off the walls. Yogi answers with a wave and a call just as brightly, and Gareki watches as the other two draw closer; Nai looking enthusiastic as usual and Tsukumo, with a knowing smile.

“Did we interrupt anything?” the question is for Gareki, because Yogi is hugging and picking up Nai—right, fucking diabetes. The dark-haired youth snorts, shrugging a dismissal as an answer, and Tsukumo nods. “We’re all to assemble shortly. Karoku thinks he’s found a new lead.”

“A mission, then.”

“Most likely,” Tsukumo glances at him. “Gareki-kun, you look happy.”

Gareki pauses, bringing a palm to his face just to make sure that he’s not subconsciously smiling. But Tsukumo would know—she always knows better, even when Gareki isn’t smiling, and the very thought itself is enough to bring a smirk to his face.

“Yeah,” and he still doesn’t get why it’s a relief, to admit something like that, but that’s another thing to learn about, isn’t it? He has time. So he reaches out and grabs Yogi’s ass, ignoring the blond’s yelp in favor of squeezing them hard.

Yogi nearly drops Nai as he turns bright red, spluttering incoherent words, Tsukumo coughs politely into her hands, and Nai, still in Yogi’s arms, claps at the prospect of a new game and reaches down to try and grab Yogi’s ass as well. Yogi drops him for real, then, panicking as he tries to explain that it’s not a new game, throwing pleading looks that Tsukumo returns with blank ones, and Gareki swallows back the laughter that bubbles in his throat.

He does seizes Nai’s hand gently when the younger boy tries to reach out for Yogi’s butt again, apparently still convinced that it’s a game, then tells him firmly, “not for you, Nai.”

Nai blinks. “Only Gareki?”

Gareki smirks, but his gaze turns soft. “Yeah. Mine.”

**——-o0ofinitoo0o——-**


End file.
